


These Weary Days Broken By the Light

by Guanin



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Depression, First Meeting, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other, Set BCE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:23:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Crawley hadn’t meant to fall. He hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. He had just asked questions that needed asking, that no one except for Lucifer and his friends were making. But they had betrayed him in the end, too, hadn’t they? Hastur. Beelzebub. Ligur. Dukes and a Prince of Hell, and what was Crawley? Not that Crawley wanted to be anything. If ambition were his game, he would have kept his mouth shut like a good, little soldier and toed the line in Heaven. But that had never seemed right. Not this blind devotion to authority and the Divine Plan. The Ineffable Plan, as Aziraphale loved to call it. Just what the Heaven was the Ineffable Plan, anyway? Create a whole, beautiful world, put humans in it, and toy with them until Armageddon, that’s what it was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is all set before the Crucifixion, so Crowley is "Crawley" through the fic.

Crawley hadn’t meant to fall. He hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. He had just asked questions that needed asking, that no one except for Lucifer and his friends were making. But they had betrayed him in the end, too, hadn’t they? Hastur. Beelzebub. Ligur. Dukes and a Prince of Hell, and what was Crawley? Not that Crawley wanted to be anything. If ambition were his game, he would have kept his mouth shut like a good, little soldier and toed the line in Heaven. But that had never seemed right. Not this blind devotion to authority and the Divine Plan. The Ineffable Plan, as Aziraphale loved to call it. Just what the Heaven was the Ineffable Plan, anyway? Create a whole, beautiful world, put humans in it, and toy with them until Armageddon, that’s what it was. With angels on the side of Good and demons on the side of Bad. Humans had free will, so they could do whatever they wanted, but the forces of Light and Darkness would be there whispering in their ears, trying to coax them to their own side. It wasn’t in the humans’ best interest. Heaven and Hell just stored their souls when they died, made their eternities either marvelous or terrifying, depending on criteria that were sometimes clear cut, yet often as murky as a puddle of mud. The system wouldn’t have been able to be set up at all if they hadn’t rebelled. 

He had objected to a dictatorial system that demanded unquestioning obedience and working with arseholes who valued their own glory above the wellbeing of anyone but themselves. They certainly didn’t care about the wellbeing of the humans to be, who were ignorant of the true workings of the universe, and therefore were never given a fair shake at all. And for this, Crawley was labeled a traitor and banished from Heaven for all eternity. But he tried to keep his chin up. Maybe it would be better now that they were away from God’s direct oversight. But all of Lucifer’s promises of free-thinking and suitable working conditions evaporated in a flash. Hell would be as democratic as Heaven. In other words, not one bit. 

Questioning orders was frowned upon, and objecting outright was punished so severely that Crawley had spent an hour throwing up after witnessing the first punishment, the burning stench still searing his shaking spirit. Not only was Hell no better than Heaven, it was even worse. Humans certainly saw it that way, although they could be excused for not knowing what the angels they revered were really like. Crawley hoped that he could use his position and proximity to Lucifer to influence the nascent policy of their new dominion, but he was painfully corrected. It turned out that Lucifer’s nodding along to Crawley’s concern about the treatment of the human race was all an act to get him, a fellow Archangel, on his side. Lucifer didn’t care about humans. Nor did any of rest of the new demons, as they were now being called. Other than to be used as living pincushions, that is. Or malleable minds to toy with. All manner of horrifying tortures were invented within a manner of days when it was decreed that Hell would be taking in the bad human souls. 

In the deepest despair of Crawley’s drinking binges, he wondered if any of them had any free will. After all, without the Glorious Revolution (Heaven, did that name make him gag), there wouldn’t be two sides to fight over humanity. People wouldn’t be tested the way that God wanted. It had been meant to happen. All part of the Great Plan. They were all just game pieces being moved around by an Almighty entity who wouldn’t grant them the common courtesy of acknowledging it. 

`````````````````

“Get up there and make some trouble.”

Lucifer may have demoted him and ignored everything that Crawley had to say after they were banished to this literal hellhole, but at all least he wasn’t a total dick. Crawley hated every second he spent in Hell and made no qualms about it, so out of the itty bitty, teeny weeny goodness in what was left of Lucifer’s shriveled heart, Lucifer sent Crawley up to the surface of the newly made planet Earth. Pestering humans was their new gig, and someone had to get that ball rolling. It might as well be the guy who liked the little critters, right? A little cruel irony there. Always par for the course for a demon. To be fair, Crawley couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that he would like humans. He hadn’t actually seen any before, as they didn’t exist before a few weeks ago. But he did come to like them. He took his time spying on them in his new, snake form while watching out for the angels that minded the garden. There was one cherub for each gate. Not that Eden actually had gates. The walls were all solid, yet they were called Angel of the Eastern Gate, Angel of the Northern Gate, etc. Probably to sound more lofty and pompous. Heaven really went in for pomposity. 

The Eastern Gate chap was on Tree of Knowledge duty when Crawley decided to make his move. Later on, Crawley wished that he had a better recollection of the first time that he saw him, but how was he supposed to know that this would become the most important person in his life? All he knew at the time was that the angel was attractive, shorter than him, chubby, had short, white-blond hair, and kind eyes. His eyes made Crawley feel a twinge guilty as he took advantage of the angel being distracted by a pretty array of flowers that had just bloomed to creep out of the soil to whisper in Eve’s ear.

Eve caught so much flack for taking that apple, but how else was the human race supposed to get the ball rolling? What, generations of humanity were all going to live in that garden, stuffed in until the walls could contain no more? And what was so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil? How else was God supposed to test them if they didn’t? Wasn’t that the whole point? If they never left the garden, what were demons supposed to do? Twiddle their thumbs for 6,000 years until the Antichrist popped up and declared Game Over? No, Crawley had definitely been meant to tempt Eve into eating that apple. Which brought him back to the whole free will thing. How much of it were demons and angels allowed, if any at all? 

But Crawley wasn’t making himself dizzy with existential questions about free will yet. He was wondering if he’d done the right thing, though. He was pro asking questions, after all. Asking questions was good. Great. Necessary. Of course encouraging humans to gain sufficient knowledge to know that questions needed asking, and not just stay in their gilded cage, was a good thing as far as Crawley was concerned. But his new superiors weren’t very keen on doing good, nor were they any more forgiving than Heaven. If Crawley didn’t want to be barbecued, he better tread very carefully. Or slither, as the case may be. 

He hadn’t planned to interact with any of the angels in Eden. Chances were that they would try to skewer him with their flaming swords. Crawley had one of those once. He didn’t miss it. Yet he found himself gazing at the Angel of the Eastern Gate fly to the top of the wall and look out at Eve and Adam as they made their way across the vast stretch of sand. Crawley could sense his anxiety from the ground below. He had looked devastated when he saw what the humans had done and what it meant. Crawley’s guilt returned. He tried to tell it to shove off, but it didn’t work this time. He had been an angel too recently to not feel bad about making things difficult for one. Well, that depended on the angel. He would love to make Gabriel’s life difficult. Or Michael’s. But this one seemed nice. He wasn’t high up enough in the food chain to know how messed up the system really was. And he cared about the humans. The other guardians were loitering at the other end of the garden waiting to find out what would happen with the place, but not this one. 

Crawley crept up the wall and slid next to him, bracing himself in case the angel made a sudden, defensive move. He sensed Crawley coming. He had to. No one would have been able to miss him, especially not an angel. Yet the angel didn’t move. He probably sensed that Crawley wasn’t a threat to him, not anymore. The damage was done. Crawley transformed into bipedal form and extended his wings. The angel turned then, doing a double-take, his apprehension increasing at the sight of him, a demon, no more than three feet away, yet he still didn’t try to attack him. Crawley spoke.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

Muttered, more like. He hadn’t meant to mutter. Maybe he was a little nervous. He’d never spoken to an angel as a demon before. The rules had all shifted. There was no telling what could happen. The angel might not be outwardly reacting, but his body was tense. Any number of angels who had once been Crawley’s friends would sneer at him now. Spit at him. Revile him for daring to address them. Call him a traitor. This angel did none of those things. Instead, he laughed. A tittering, hesitant laugh, like he couldn’t believe that a demon was talking to him and he didn’t know what to do.

“Sorry,” he asked. “What was that?”

Crawley squashed a thrill of excitement before it showed in a mad grin on his face.

“I said, well that went down like a lead balloon.”

Crawley turned towards the angel, raising his voice but keeping it casual and conversational as if they were back in the Silver City and the whole Revolution business had never happened. The angel was frowning at him, so jittery that Crawley almost apologized, yet he still didn’t look remotely hostile. 

“Oh,” the angel said, a trepidatious smile jerking on his face again. “Yes, it did rather.”

Crawley waited for him to accuse him of wrecking the humans’ perfect happiness, but the angel didn’t say anything else. Maybe he was too scared to. He did keep casting him fearful glances.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me,” Crawley said, carrying on as if there were nothing weird about the two of them standing like this. “First offense and everything. And I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.”

“Well, it must be bad.”

The angel looked at him expectantly, an unspoken question wrinkling his forehead. Hang on. He wanted to know Crawley’s name.

“Crawley,” Crawley said, nodding, relieved. He hadn’t expected the angel to ask for his name.

“Crawley.” You couldn’t quite call the grimacing, little thing that appeared on the angel’s face a smile. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.”

The angel grimaced again, as if afraid that he shouldn’t be saying such things to a demon. 

“Ah, they just said get up there and make some trouble.”

“Obviously. You’re a demon. It’s what you do.”

Could the angel possibly sound more judgy?

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a don’t touch sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain, or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.”

“Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand.”

Yup, the angel could get judgier. Well, that was disappointing. Unsurprising, but disappointing. 

“It’s ineffable,” the angel continued, turning to him with a look that dared Crawley to object.

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” Crawley asked.

Wasn’t that just ridiculous?

Hang on. Something was off here. Where was the angel’s sword? Crawley couldn’t see it anywhere.

“Exactly,” the angel continued. “And you can’t second guess ineffability. It is beyond understanding.”

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

The angel’s pompous speech came to a sudden halt as he frowned, looking very awkward all of a sudden.

“Uh…” he uttered.

“You did. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?”

The angel gulped, wringing his hands, shoulders scrunching with tension.

“Um…”

Oh, wasn’t this just precious? The angel had gone and lost his sword.

“Lost it already, have you?”

“I gave it away,” the angel muttered under his breath.

Wait, what?!

“You what?” Crawley asked, eyes widening in shock.

“I gave it away!” 

The angel met Crawley’s eyes, so distressed that if they were back in Heaven, Crawley would have asked him if he needed a hug.

“They looked so miserable,” the angel continued, miserably. “And there are vicious animals out there and she’s expecting already. So I said, here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me, and don’t let the sun go down on you here. I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

Crawley’s brain tread water for a second before he forced his tongue to function.

“You’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

The most brilliant smile brightened the angel’s face. It might as well be a ray of sunshine from Heaven by the way that it lit his face right up. An already pretty face, but now he looked beautiful. 

No, he was already beautiful. Crawley just hadn’t seen him from quite this angle before. Although his nervous dithering had been kind of adorable, now that he thought of it. And giving his sword to the humans. A divine, flaming sword! Who did that?

“Oh, thank you,” the angel said, truly grateful. “It’s been bothering me.”

Crawley had been sarcastic, but he wasn’t going to correct him on his wrong impression now. Not if his comment really did make the angel feel better. 

“I’ve been worrying, too,” he said instead, trying to get a hold of himself. “What if I did the right thing? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” Crawley smiled, trying to draw another smile from the angel. “Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.”

It worked. The angel laughed, bright and carefree. A giggle welled up in Crawley’s own throat. He suddenly felt as light and as at peace as he ever had, before the war, before he returned to Heaven and Lucifer got into his head. When he was off in freshly created space, carefully crafting nebulas from the atoms up. This was what he had been hoping for since he’d climbed the wall. That an angel, any angel, but now especially this angel, would not just see him as a filthy demon, but treat him with some measure of decency. 

Then a look of horror flashed across the angel’s face.

“No,” he said, startled at himself. “That wouldn’t be funny at all.”

Crawley could see his point. The forces of Heaven and Hell weren’t very keen on their minions making mistakes. Still, the angel had at least loosened up enough to see the humor of the situation for a little bit. 

A loud, rumbling sound groaned through the darkening sky above. Crawley cringed and stepped toward Aziraphale. 

“What’s that?” he asked, peering at the sky nervously.

“Rain,” Aziraphale said. “It’s the Almighty’s newest idea. It will provide water to the rest of the Earth. This particular type is called a thunderstorm.”

He raised his left wing and held it over Crawley, shielding him from the drops that suddenly fell down upon them. Crawley flinched, but it didn’t sting. It wasn’t holy water, thank He—Well, somebody. 

“How long will it last?” Crawley asked. 

“I don’t know. I hear that it’s to be a regular occurrence, so probably not long.”

Crawley peered around Aziraphale’s wing. Aziraphale’s hair was plastered to his hair, already soaked, as were his robes.

“You’re getting wet,” Crawley said.

“I know.”

“You’re shielding me while you’re getting wet.”

Aziraphale stood a little straighter, avoiding Crawley’s eyes.

“It’s the courteous thing to do.”

“Even though I’m a demon?”

The angel looked even more uncomfortable. Crawley took pity on him and cast a wide, impermeable fabric over them. Aziraphale gazed up at it and lowered his wing.

“Thank you,” he said primly, passing his hand over himself to miracle himself dry. 

“You don’t mind being all chummy like this with me, do you? I thought you’d gotten over your nervousness when we laughed together, but you seem tense again.”

“I’m not tense,” the angel said, tensely. Also defensive.

“What’s your name?”

The angel hesitated for a second before replying.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale dipped his head and glanced at Crawley, studying him. Crawley rocked back on his feet.

“Yeah, you’re not tense at all,” he said. “I can leave you alone if you want. I thought you were probably going to chase me off when I came up here.”

Aziraphale frowned, wringing his hands.

“I should be chasing you off, shouldn’t I?” He looked apprehensively at the sky. “I hope I don’t get into trouble.”

“I doubt it. You’re too nice and obedient to get into trouble.”

“Obedience is a virtue.” Aziraphale raised his chin with that same holier than thou expression he got while describing God’s ineffable plan. “Not that I would expect you to know that.”

“Hell is just as strict about obedience as Heaven, I’ll have you know. I could get into trouble for talking to an angel.”

“Why are you, then?”

Aziraphale’s frown was curious now. Crawley looked away down at the humans, little specks in the horizon now, running to try to find some shelter. At least Aziraphale’s flaming sword would keep them warm. Crawley hadn’t even known that about the angel when he came up here. He just wanted to talk. To hang out with an angel again. Maybe pretend that he was still one for a bit, that his eyes weren’t yellow with vertical slits cut across them, and that his wings weren’t burnt black.

Crawley shrugged.

“Bored, I guess,” he said. “There’s nothing for me to do for a while, is there? And you actually seemed concerned about what the humans were doing, not like the other angels back there complaining about their cushy assignment getting wrecked.”

“It’s your fault that it got wrecked.”

“Yeah… Sorry about that. It’s my job.”

“I can’t fault you for that.” Aziraphale frowned at himself. “Although I should. But you have to do what you’re told, same as me.”

Crawley scowled at the ground. Great, bloody good rebelling did. 

“Why would you care that I’m concerned for the humans?” Aziraphale asked. “You lost them their home here, too.”

“They need to get out there in the world, not be stuck here in a gilded cage. And they need to ask questions. Everyone should ask questions.”

Aziraphale drew himself up straighter, raising his chin with an air of superiority.

“I certainly do not need to do any such thing. That’s the difference between you and me. You rebel while I know better.”

Crawley snorted.

“You know better. Right. Well, Hell is no peach, so you probably are better off. Still, I think I probably did do the humans some good in the long run. Hope the boss doesn’t hear about that.”

Bleargh. Calling Lucifer “the boss”. That was going to take some getting used to.

“If I didn’t know better,” Aziraphale said, “I’d say you sound pleased at doing good.”

Crawley really was throwing Aziraphale for a loop, wasn’t he? The poor angel looked as confused as if Crawley had shown up with an armful of flowers and a present for the humans’ coming baby. 

“I was an angel until recently, you know,” Crawley said. “The change in status takes some getting used to. I’ll settle eventually. Besides, like you said.” Crawley grinned. “I rebel. That’s what I do.”

A tentative smile jerked on Aziraphale’s lips, as if he were fighting it but couldn’t help himself. He was loosening up again. Much better.

“I suppose so,” he said, sounding amused. “Is that why you’re speaking to me? Rebelling?”

A sigh rose and died in Crawley’s throat. 

“I just wanted to chat with someone for a bit.”

Did that sound sad? Fuck, it did sound sad, didn’t it? 

“Wouldn’t speaking to a fellow demon be more appropriate?”

“Nah, I don’t care for them much. They don’t care for me, either. Especially not Lucifer, the great lying sod. Prince of Lies. That’s what they should call him. Not Morningstar. That name’s too glorious for him now. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

“You know him, then?”

Aziraphale looked both impressed and terrified. 

“I thought I did.”

The humans were practically over the horizon now. Soon, Aziraphale would have no more excuse to be up here.

“Do you regret rebelling?” Aziraphale asked.

Crawley frowned at him. Aziraphale regarded him pensively, curious. Hopeful. What was he hoping for? A demon was a demon. Unforgivable. No take-backs. Crawley could plea in abject remorse and still never reach Heaven in safety again. Besides, why would he want to go back to that dump?

“No,” Crawley said. “I hate Hell, don’t get me wrong. I hate the new organization. I hate having to do what I’m told, else I get tortured. If I could do it again, I would tell Lucifer to fuck off. But I would have still asked questions. Always good, questions. You should speculate every once in a while. Just to yourself if you don’t want to risk saying anything out loud. Just as a mental exercise. It’s always better to know what you’re really being asked to do.”

Aziraphale was drawing himself back again, his torso straightening as he faced forward and squared his jaw. Crawley sighed in disappointment.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t want to… Well, end up like you.”

A sardonic smile cut across Crawley’s lips.

“Fair enough.” Crawley stepped back, tucking his wings away, pain stinging in his gut. “I should probably leave before the other angels notice me.”

Guilt flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes. Interesting.

“I didn’t mean to… You don’t have to leave. Although… It would be… But my intention wasn’t to drive you off.”

“That’s alright. I really should get going. We’d both have a lot of awkward explaining if anyone caught us.”

With a last, febrile grin that Crawley didn’t feel much at all, he transformed back into a snake and slithered down the wall to the desert below. Aziraphale’s gaze burned into his back as he made his way over the scorching sand. Was he curious? Apologetic? No way to tell without turning back, but that would be too hard. Regret curdling in his stomach, Crawley sank below the surface and out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

He tried to see Aziraphale again, but couldn’t find another opportunity to do so. He was always with the other angels when Crawley popped his head from the ground, forcing Crawley to retreat with a disappointed groan. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, so Crawley really shouldn’t be trying so hard, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d had fun talking to the angel. It had been nice. He liked nice. Then one day, Aziraphale simply wasn’t there. Frantic, Crawley searched for him all over the garden until one of the other angels noticed and chased him off. Aziraphale was gone. They must have recalled him back to Heaven. Or he was helping build the still half-formed Earth somewhere. That had once been Crawley’s job. Well, not making the Earth. Other planets. Stars. Galaxies. Nebulas.

Weighed down with regret, Crawley wandered the desert sands until they ran out in a rich, verdant river delta. Hell hadn’t bothered him since he’d arrived on the surface, so Crawley journeyed some more, sometimes on his legs, but more often slithering along as a snake. He discovered the beautiful art of sleeping as he was resting on a patch of sun on the grass next to the river. 

He had no idea how long he slept for until he woke up to find a human standing over him with a long stick with three prongs at the end, shouting at him. Crawley hissed at them until they ran away screaming, then crawled up a tree that hadn’t been there before to take a look around. Huh. Where had all these humans come from? They didn’t even look like the first humans. They had buildings now. And boats. And had sown vast stretches of land that Crawley would later learn were called farms. There were young humans and older humans, and tiny, little humans, just born. Centuries must have gone by for there to be so many now. 

When no one was around, Crawley slipped back into his bipedal form and slid off the tree, fashioning his clothes to look like the ones that the human who had accosted him was wearing. Later on, after he learned about social ranks and how that reflected in clothing, he changed them up to make himself look like a successful merchant. He indulged in the odd temptation here and there. Nothing too nefarious, just those little things that people really wanted to do, but insisted on denying themselves. Besides, Hell might snatch him back at any moment and demand to know why he had been so idle all this time. Yet even with that worry tingling in the back of his head, he could barely muster the energy to stir out of his tree half the time. He felt heavy. Heart heavy. Limbs (when he had limbs) heavy. Like a big rock was weighing him down and it was too hard to raise his head. What was the point of doing anything? He didn’t want this life. He didn’t want his former life, either, but this one was definitely crap. He ran into some angels, but they weren’t like Aziraphale. They sneered or cowered away, sometimes both. He did meet a demon, but he slithered away before they could engage him in conversation. They’d probably want to talk about torture and how annoying their accommodations these days were. Maybe try to engage him in some angel baiting. Crawley had no energy for any of that crap. 

One day, while sitting in the middle of a field of lilies gazing up at the brilliant band of the Milky Way, he said, “Fuck all this” and flew off. It was too dark for humans to see a man-shaped being with wings on his back, but Crawley wouldn’t have cared if they had seen him. He flew up, up, up, until he broke through the atmosphere and into the vacuum of space beyond. 

It was so quiet here. So still. Were he still an angel, he would have stumbled across Heaven somewhere, but now he had no more easy access to it than any other demon. Fuck them, too. What did he need them for when he had the stars? He visited the sun for a bit, then the planets in its solar system, all of which had divine names, which were not the human names that would be given later. He flew past the asteroid belt, the orange-yellow giant with the eternal storm in its side (Lucifer’s little joke). The slightly smaller one with the beautiful, wide rings. He took his time, ducking in and out of the little moons, floating fragments of ice. He raced an asteroid. It wasn’t that much fun when you know that you will win. The blue-green planet with the vertical rings was beautiful this time of year, even if a bit toxic. Ah, the little, dwarf planets. Who made those? He couldn’t remember. He could just stick around this galaxy, but that got old after a while. Why not visit the places that he had helped create? None of them were in this part of the galaxy. He drifted off, needing no more than a thought to find himself before a crab nebula. Then a black hole. Then two galaxies that would soon collapse into each other. Well, soon being in 9,289 years and eight seconds. Pretty quick by the slow standards that they’d established out here, but long enough for Crawley to get tired of having no one to talk to. That was already a problem. It was gorgeous and quiet and peaceful out here, but there was no atmosphere. Literally. No humans to spy on. To tempt. No Lucifer or Beelzebub to avoid, either, though. Or angels to mock him and call him petty names. Although it was fun to hiss at them as a twenty-foot long snake and watch them scamper in terror. 

What about that one angel? Aziraphale. Was he still in Heaven? He liked humans. At the very least, he would have tried to be reassigned to Earth, wouldn’t he? It made sense. Crawley hadn’t run into him, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t anywhere on the planet. Crawley just had to keep looking. Aziraphale had been fun to talk to. He even shielded him from the rain with his wing. What angel did that for a demon? And he hadn’t run him off. Or called him names. They had even shared a laugh together. That as nice. And he wasn’t bad to look at. The magnificent beauty of the spheres was breathtaking and all that, but they couldn’t smile back at you, could they? 

For how long had Crawley been gone now? It was hard to keep track out here. One could just drift forever in the great vastness of space and sleep. Sleep forever.

But he didn’t want to sleep forever. Not really. He just wanted… something. A life. This wasn’t a life. Being a demon hadn’t been much of a life so far, but he could make something of it, he supposed. Maybe. Humans seemed fun enough. He had been excited about them before this whole madness happened. Sure, he wouldn’t be granting any blessings any time soon, but the temptations had been fun, hadn’t they? More fun than wandering in and out of a planet’s rings, in any case. It definitely had better music. 

Music! Human music was so much nicer than those rubbish harmonies they had up in Heaven. Bore you to death, those would. Hell was barely familiar with the concept. And the clothes had been fun. Black suited him. He liked it. It felt more comfortable than white somehow. 

“Why not?” he muttered to himself. There was no one around to hear him, but he said it, anyway. “What have I got to lose?”

His skin, it turned out, for the instant that he touched down on good, old planet Earth, a force from Below snatched him up and dragged him through miles of solid and molten rock into the bowels of Hell. They could have just transported him straight into Hell in a second, but that wouldn’t have been fun, would it? They wanted him to suffer. So here he was, wracked in agony for who knew how long until he finally fell with a splat on the floor of Hell. The Dark Council weren’t pleased that he had disappeared off the face of the planet for so long. Crawley should have been expecting it, really. An interrogation ensued, followed by a telling off, which resulted in further pain when Crawley demanded to speak to Lucifer directly. They had been Archangels together in Heaven. The bastard could damn well give him five seconds of his time here in this cesspool that he’d dragged them all into. 

It actually went better than he expected. Mention wanting to visit the hurricane that Lucifer had planted a few planets over, and the old boy got all nostalgic. He really had a soft spot for that one. Fancy that. Still, Crawley should have asked permission. Gruesome examples must be made. Blah, blah, blah. But Lucy wasn’t as twisted or bitter as he would be in later centuries. He let Crawley off easy. No more torture. He could even go back to the surface, but he’d have assignments from now on, and he’d have to report back on his doings with a horrible new system called “paperwork”. Hell had invented it, yet Heaven wasted no time adopting it as soon as they caught wind of it. It would prove to be one of the greatest irritants in Crawley’s existence, but he didn’t know that yet. For now, he was just glad to be out, back in the fresh air, skin almost fully healed. 

The next hundred years weren’t bad. They weren’t great. But they weren’t bad, either. He slid in and out of human settlements, inciting some adultery here, some bribes there. A skirmish or two. He didn’t like those, but defying Hell again was not a good idea. He was constantly vigilant for Aziraphale, but no luck. As the years wore on, a feeling that he refused to call sorrow settled in the pit of his stomach, dull and leaden, like water that had been infected with parasites. He still didn’t have anyone to talk to. Demons were no good. Angels were worse. Humans wouldn’t understand if he complained about not being able to reach the tops of his wings to groom them properly. He tried venting to some birds, but they only looked at him like he was a weirdo and flew off. 

Then the party happened. The locals of the town he was currently stationed in were celebrating some god or other. Not the one that Crawley used to answer to, in any case. But there was music and alcohol, so who cared what the theme was about? He dropped in to watch a colorful procession down the main street with people dressed up in all sorts of colorful ways, some looking like animals, while others looked like a living representation of the god in question. So creative, these humans. Crawley was rather fond of artists. So many of them tended to end up in Hell, too. A bit unfair, that. Most of them weren’t a bad sort, but being a stickler for rules and being an artist was an oxymoron, and Heaven loved rules. Of course they wouldn’t take in anyone with even a whiff of rebellion to their name. 

It was during the parade that Crawley sensed him. An angelic presence, but not one that made his hackles rise in annoyance. This one felt distinctly familiar. 

Could it be? Nah, this town was a so tiny that Crawley would have sensed him long before now. Yet he peered through the crowd, examining everybody for a wisp of white-blond hair and that kind face that may have taken over his thoughts way more often than he was willing to admit to.

“Crawley?”

Gasping, Crawley turned around, running into someone in his haste. There he was, a few meters away, staring at him through the crowd in astonishment. With a growl, Crawley shoved through the people between them and rushed to the angel gaping at him like he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or disturbed by the sight in front of him. Or maybe he was just disturbed, while the happy part was just wishful thinking. Around them, people grumbled that they were blocking the way to see the parade. Crawley ignored them, but Aziraphale, good angel that he was, looked guilty about it and nudged his head to the side.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he said before leading him down the road.

Aziraphale did sound apprehensive, didn’t he? Crap, Crawley had hoped that he’d gotten over that. But Aziraphale had approached him first. That had to mean something. He could have just fled the other way when he saw Crawley, but he didn’t. And he didn’t look like he was about to engage in some demon smiting, so it couldn’t be that. Crawley walked quietly at his side as they dodged through the crowds, sneaking little glances at him. Aziraphale looked good. Still dressed in white. No gold trim this time, though. He, like Crawley, was dressed to blend in with the local population. His hair was a touch curlier than the last time that Crawley had seen him, unless his memory was wonky, which it wasn’t. He looked straight ahead, chin up, all sorts of doubts gleaming behind his eyes as he squared his jaw and glanced at Crawley. Crawley looked away, itching with embarrassment. 

Heaven, he was being ridiculous. He had spoken to Aziraphale once. Once! Sure, that one time had made him the best conversational partner that Crawley had had since he was thrown out of Heaven, but that didn’t justify him hovering over him like he had some crush. 

Aziraphale smelled nice. 

_Shut up, mind! Shut up!_

Aziraphale led him all the way to the outskirts of town into a field run wild with grass and the odd shrub. Shit, maybe he did want to have a throwdown. Although, if he did, he wouldn’t have stopped within full view of a residential area. Besides, he didn’t look the type. He had given away his sword, for Satan’s sake. 

“You’re not going to attack me, are you?” Crawley asked, half joking, half for the look of confused horror that crossed Aziraphale’s face.

“What?” he asked. “No. I just wanted to speak somewhere where we won’t be overheard. I have no intention of fighting you, and I hope you don’t, either.”

“Nah, you’re good.”

Crawley smiled. See, he’d been right all along. Stupid mind.

“It’s been a long time,” Aziraphale said, his hands folded in front of him, fingers fighting not to twitch, his voice getting too serious again.

“You’re not still afraid of me, are you?” Crawley asked, frowning.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened again and he looked embarrassed. He tried to dissemble by raising his chin and looking affronted, but it was too late. 

“I was never afraid of you,” he said, he said, sounding so offended that Crawley wanted to laugh. Did he realize how cute he looked when he got all worked up like this? “I was on my guard.”

Crawley tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

“On your guard. Twitching with nervousness because a demon was talking to you. Same thing.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes with an exasperated huff. That was better. He was loosening up already. Much faster than last time. 

“Fine, so I was apprehensive. It was a completely justified response after what you had just done.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

“I’m sure you were nervous, too.”

Aziraphale looked at him searchingly. Crawley leaned back on his feet. He wasn’t sure he liked that.

“I wasn’t nervous,” he said.

“I distinctly recall thinking that you were nervous. Not at first, but afterward, with the storm.”

“That’s not my fault. I’d never seen a storm before. Anyway, you were nervous first.”

Aziraphale looked away in annoyance.

“Let’s not turn this into a competition about who was more nervous, please. I barely know how to manage this as it is.”

“Manage what?”

Aziraphale gestured between them.

“This. Talking to you. Which I should not be doing.”

“Then why are you? You approached me.”

“Well, I… I just…” Aziraphale frowned, tucking his hands even more firmly together. “You’d clearly already noticed my presence, so I thought it would be odd if I simply left. I didn’t want to give you the impression that I was running away, which I wouldn’t have, in any case. Look, you weren’t terrible last time. Except for tempting Eve, but I understand. You have a job to do, nefarious though it is. Of course, it’s doomed to failure in the end. Good will prevail. There is no question of that. But you must play your part in the meantime, I suppose, so I mustn’t fault you for it.” A perturbed frown wrinkled Aziraphale’s forehead. “Although one could argue that I am morally obligated to obstruct you. I’m not sure. I haven’t received any instructions in that regard, but it stands to reason.”

“So is that what you’re going to do? Obstruct me?”

Aziraphale’s frown deepened. Really, he was rather cute for an angel, even back when he’d had that pompous look on his face as he delivered his little speech. 

“No,” Aziraphale said, looking miserably uncertain about his decision. “I feel like I should, but no one has told me to do so, so they can’t fault me for letting you get on with things, can they?”

Not exactly rebellion, but there was a spark of independent thinking in Aziraphale, after all. 

“Nah, you’ll be fine. I suppose I should be obstructing you too, but I don’t feel like it. Too much effort.”

Besides, then Aziraphale might not be willing to talk to him again. 

“I was wondering if I’d bump into you again,” Crawley said, playing it cool. “I’d figured that they’d recalled you to Heaven.”

“They did for a bit, but I was sent back within a few years. I thought my request would be turned down due to the whole, well, apple business.” Aziraphale’s peeved stare only made Crawley grin. “But all was forgiven. I’ve been here ever since. Well, not here here. They move me around. You’ve also been here since then, I take it?”

“Yeah. I took a nap for a few centuries, though. Missed the whole rise of civilization.”

Aziraphale was frowning again. He was very frowny. Maybe Crawley just brought it out in him. 

“A nap?” he asked. “You sleep?”

Now it was Crawley’s turn to frown.

“Of course I sleep. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It seems like a waste of time. There’s always something to do.”

“A waste of time? I’ll have you know that it is the most relaxing, pleasant thing you could ever do. You should give it a try sometime.”

“And let down my guard while doing so? Pardon me if I don’t take advice from a demon. While you were dreaming away, I got to see humans invent the wheel. Agriculture. Cooking. Marvelous stuff, human food. They are ever so imaginative with flavors.”

Enjoyment brightened Aziraphale’s face. Huh, so there was a subject that he wasn’t all stern about. 

“I prefer liquid flavors,” Crawley said. “I like drinking, me. There doesn’t even have to be alcohol in it. But food makes me sleepy.”

“Then it should be perfect for you since you like sleeping so much.”

“But it makes me sleepy when I don’t want to be sleepy. The food just sits there in my stomach. I feel heavy and bloated. It’s unpleasant.”

“Perhaps you eat too much in one sitting. You could try just taking a bite or two at first. It shouldn’t weigh you down then.”

Crawley narrowed his eyes at him.

“I thought angels weren’t into indulging in human things like food. Something about it contaminating your pure bodies or whatever.”

“It does no such thing. There might be some angels who aren’t keen on it, but that is an unfair thing for them to say. It doesn’t affect our bodies in the least.”

Crawley looked down at Aziraphale’s belly. That was definitely bigger than the last time that he had seen him. More rounded out, as was his face. Aziraphale caught him looking and took a step back with an affronted huff.

“So I’ve put on a little weight,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Crawley’s eyes widened in shock. Oh, shit. That’s not what he meant at all!

“I didn’t say there was,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “You look good. Really good. I just meant… You said it didn’t affect your body. That’s the only thing I was referring to. I mean…”

Had he really just told Aziraphale that he looked good?

“You don’t look bad,” Crawley continued to babble. “You look decent, I guess.”

What the Heaven was wrong with him?! Great, now Aziraphale was peering at him like he’d grown a second head, which would actually be less weird than complimenting an angel. His cheeks burned. Oh, fuck, now that was happening.

“Never mind,” he mumbled. 

And now he was rubbing the back of his head like he was nervous. Really. Could he be more obvious?

“So you’re here to perform a blessing or something?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Real smooth, that. Truly. He was in top form today. 

“I am,” Aziraphale said, looking as pleased to move on as Crawley was. “You’re here to tempt people, I take it.”

Crawley nodded. 

“A couple of temptations. They’re sending me up north next week.”

“Ah. Just as well. I’m staying here for the foreseeable future.”

Aziraphale looked relieved by that. What remained of Crawley’s good cheer sank to the bottom of his stomach. 

“I expect you’ll be glad to see me leave, then?”

Now why had Crawley gone and said a thing like that for? He didn’t actually want Aziraphale to know that he’d been looking forward to seeing him again for centuries. Especially when the angel was clearly so happy to have him out of his hair. 

“You are my sworn enemy,” Aziraphale said. 

“I don’t recall swearing anything,” Crawley muttered, turning away. “I might as well leave now, then. Let you get back to business. Bye, then.”

Turning his back, he waved at Aziraphale and walked away. Aziraphale didn’t call him back. Crawley should have known better than to hope for that. 

`````````````

Another century passed before he saw Aziraphale again, almost enough to make up for him basically kicking Crawley out of town. Crawley wasn’t even looking for Aziraphale this time. He was curious about this Noah person and his big ship, which he was filling up with pairs of animals. Every animal. Having a personal menagerie was one thing, but this seemed a little extreme. And why have it in a boat? This had God’s plotting stamped all over it. Seeing Aziraphale standing amidst the crowd that was staring at the big boat only confirmed it. Crawley hesitated before approaching him. Aziraphale would probably be no more glad to see him now than the last time. Maybe Crawley shouldn’t bother. But then he’d always wonder, and that just took up unnecessary mental energy. Besides, Aziraphale, polite as he was, would at least do him the courtesy of telling him what the deal was with the boat. 

Aziraphale didn’t look super pleased to see Crawley, which was disheartening, but not surprising. But Crawley forgot all about that when Aziraphale told him that God, in Her infinite wisdom, had decided to drown everyone in the vicinity, even the kids. But not to worry, because She would never do it again. 

She shouldn’t be doing it now. 

But what did Crawley know? He was only a demon, a servant of the Evil One. Heaven, what had become Crawley’s life? He should have stayed out in space. But Aziraphale wasn’t in space. He was here, toeing the company line. At least he had the decency to look distraught about it. Michael wouldn’t look distraught. Nor would Uriel. Much less Gabriel, that wanker. They’d say that the humans had it coming and that it was all the demons’ fault for luring the humans to their evil ways. 

It began to rain. 

“How long have we got until this is all covered in water?” Crawley asked, glaring at the sky.

“It’s supposed to last a few weeks,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. “It all needs to be immersed. I’ve been told to wait it out the next continent over. I hear that there are some nice civilizations developing along the longest river on the planet.”

“Maybe I’ll join you. I certainly can’t stay here, either.”

Aziraphale looked at him, eyes wide. Oh, crap. Crawley hadn’t meant anything by it. He certainly didn’t now if Aziraphale was so disgusted by the idea. 

“Forget I said that,” Crawley said. “Maybe I’ll head to China. It sounds like fun.”

“Uh, yes. That sounds good.”

Aziraphale tried to smile. It didn’t work. Crawley shuffled his feet. 

“I should get going,” he said. “I have a long way to go. This should all be over in a decade or two, right?”

“Yes. Less time than that.”

Crawley turned away. So much for Meeting no.3. Should he fly to China? He didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to.

“Crawley.”

Crawley stopped moving. Heart in his throat, he turned around. A war was taking place behind Aziraphale’s eyes. His hands clenched even more tightly in front of him as his lips parted, words clearly on his tongue, but he was having trouble getting them out. 

“Safe travels,” he said in the end, his lips curling in a half-hearted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but very nearly did. Crawley gaped at him.

_Well, I’ll be blessed._

“You, too,” he said once he managed to get his tongue working again.

He walked off in a daze, feet stumbling on the ground until he forced his back straight and his legs to work properly. A grin grew on his face. His cheeks hurt, but he couldn’t stop. Well, well. Aziraphale didn’t dislike him after all. 

```````````````````

A few more centuries passed before he saw Aziraphale again. He thought that it would be less, but Aziraphale must have moved on by the time that Crawley made his way to Egypt. He traveled up and down the Nile when he wasn’t assigned elsewhere, yet found no sign of him. Giving up, he asked to be sent back to Mesopotamia, hoping that Aziraphale was there, but either he wasn’t, or he and Crawley kept missing each other. The emotional miasma that had assaulted him during the first millennia returned. He resorted to humans for companionship. Other demons were definitely out. Even the less vicious of them didn’t see much point in humans other than as a job or as playthings, and how was Crawley supposed to be friends with people like that? Crawley liked humans. The problem was getting too close to them. Mortal beings that they were, they had a tendency to die eventually, and not all the ones that Crawley liked ended up somewhere where he could go. 

Obviously, it was better for them if they went to Heaven. It might be a bit dull, but the lack of hellfire and torture was a definite bonus. Yet even with the ones who went to Hell… Well, it’d be weird if Crawley was seen to be visiting any of them. Being friends with humans wasn’t something that demons were supposed to do. Lucifer may have calmed down since Crawley had returned from space, and was acting like he had forgotten that Crawley existed, but it wouldn’t do if Crawley made himself that open to attack. Getting away with rule-breaking on Earth was easy. No direct oversight. But in Hell, all the demons were too eager to catch someone else in a sin that they could gleefully report to the authorities. 

Crawley made it back to Egypt eventually. They had pyramids by then. It seemed a bit much to build a giant edifice to announce to the world where your body was buried, but they were nice to look at, and wonders of human architecture and cleverness, so Crawley approved. Of course, being a demon, he was contractually obligated to mess with them one way or the other, so he whispered in a few ears that, wouldn’t it be so easy to dig up all the gold and finery lying in those tombs? It was just sitting there, ripe for the taking. It wasn’t like the dead king was really going to use it, anyway. A millennia earlier, he might have felt bad about encouraging people to pillage a priceless tomb, but that ship had flown by now. This is who he was now. An instigator of chaos. Of treachery. Of petty thievery that would go down in infamy. So be it. Might as well have fun with it. 

It was right after one of these moments of fun that he detected Aziraphale’s presence again. He rushed down the street towards it, crashing into people, but he was a demon. What did he care? Aziraphale spotted him at the same time, his pretty face popping up in the midst of the crowd, smiling, but it was a watery smile, a smile of sorrow as much as relief. Crawley’s joy shriveled like a grape in the sun. Crawley barely spared a glance at his attire (white again, a kilt this time, with some gold trim, and a lapis lazuli necklace) before rushing to him and asking,

“What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale uttered a surprised “Oh” and glanced down, his lips pursing in a quiet grimace. He scratched at the top of his kilt with his fingertips. He wanted to wring them again. Crawley could tell. 

“A friend of mine died recently,” Aziraphale said, meeting Crawley’s eyes. “He’s in Heaven, so he is alright. I have nothing to be sad about.”

“Bollocks. Of course you’re going to be sad.”

“But he is much happier now, I’m sure. He had been in physical pain for years. Now he’s free from all that. And I can visit him, so it’s not like I’ll never see him again.”

Aziraphale had been holding back before, but now Crawley could feel the pain barely contained in his soul leaking at the seams. He almost reached out to touch him, but restrained himself at the last second.

“Aziraphale, listen to me. You have every right to mourn him. In fact, you have to mourn him. It’s going to eat you up alive if you don’t.”

“But he’s happier now. Won’t I be dishonoring him if I do that? He’s not gone. He just relocated. Like my other human friends that have gone before. I just need a little time to adjust.”

Other friends? For how long had Azirahle been clutching this pain in his chest? Crawley narrowed his eyes, rage building up inside him. 

“Did someone tell you that you shouldn’t grieve?” 

Aziraphale hesitated, the uncertainty in his eyes saying it all. Crawley growled. 

_Those fuckers._

“Come on,” he said, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow him as he looked around for a quieter spot.

“What? Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere where we can talk. I followed you that time, remember?”

The quiet debate in Aziraphale’s expression resolved itself as he nodded and followed him. They walked through the streets until they found an empty alleyway. 

“Do you mind if I miracle us somewhere?” Crawley asked him. “A quiet place by the river. It’s not far.”

For a moment, Crawley feared that Aziraphale would refuse. It was no small thing for an angel to trust a demon to transport them somewhere. Yet Azirphale nodded again. Something ached in Crawley’s chest. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, taking hold of Crawley’s left shoulder. 

Crawley clicked his fingers and the world shifted around them, the city melting away to be replaced by an unpopulated stretch of the Nile. Marsh reeds waved in the breeze by the water’s edge, lined by trees which sheltered them from the brightness of the sun. Crawley led him under one of these trees and sat down, inviting Aziraphale to do the same. A slight break in the reeds gave them a view of the river streaming past, a small alteration that Crawley had made when he discovered this spot decades ago. Aziraphale sat stiffly, folding his legs in front of him, his back to the tree trunk.

“This is a nice place,” he said, surveying the landscape. 

By the casual tone of his voice, he had every intention to try to downplay the importance of the pain he was going through. Crawley wasn’t going to let him. 

“You have to grieve,” Crawley said, as gently as he could manage. “Holding onto to that pain isn’t going to help you. It’s only going to make you feel worse.”

Aziraphale breathed deeply through his nose, lips tightening. He clutched at his legs, wrapping his hands around his shins.

“But death follows life,” he said, despairingly trying to hold on to whatever lies he had been fed up There. “It’s natural. Humans are mortal. And, as I said, my friend must be happier now.”

“I’m not saying not to tell yourself that. Cling to whatever comfort you can. But you’re in pain. There’s no use denying it. Why do you think humans have invented all these elaborate, funerary rituals? They need it. We need it, too. Come on. You eat human food. Drink human drink. I can tell that you didn’t miracle those clothes on your body. Why should you stay away from this human custom? Which isn’t only human. Would you hesitate to mourn over another angel?”

“No, of course not. But for an angel to die, their spirit must be destroyed. My human friends, their souls still live. It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s not the same as their souls being in their living bodies here. Look, this is very simple. You’re sad, right?”

Aziraphale nodded, his chin dipping lower.

“So just let it out. Go on.”

Aziraphale’s breath shook.

“I, uh… I’m not sure if I should. With you.” 

Crawley frowned, but it made sense. Why would Aziraphale be comfortable crying in front of him? 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

Aziraphale inhaled a shaky breath.

“No, it’s fine.”

They fell silent. Aziraphale sucked in long breaths, but he was still holding back, reigning back the tears that Crawley could practically feel in the air between them. Crawley raised his right hand, holding it beside Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“May I touch you?” he asked, softly.

Aziraphale looked like was going to object, but then he nodded, the motion jerky. Crawley put his hand on his back. The instant that he touched Aziraphale’s trembling skin, he gasped. Aziraphale’s grief was trapped inside him like poison in a suppurating wound, eating him up from the inside, a festering, rotten thing that would never heal unless he let it out. But he was clinging to it so tightly, believing that he should because some unfeeling bastard had told him that angels shouldn’t grieve over humans. Aziraphale felt so much, so keenly. A human staring straight into the sun until their eyes burned would be in less pain than Aziraphale right now. 

Shoving away his rage at the injustice that had been done to this poor, precious being, Crawley closed his eyes, concentrating. He hadn’t done anything like this in ages. Demons weren’t supposed to heal people, much less angels, but he still possessed the ability to comfort in his spirit, even if it had atrophied horrendously during the years. Within a moment, Aziraphale gasped, a sob clenching in his throat, and he fell forward, leaning on his legs, which he hugged to himself. Crawley kept his hand on him, but that wasn’t enough. Without thinking, he unfolded his wings and laid one over Aziraphale, covering him in a protective shield, the extra contact allowing him to project more healing energy into his body and spirit. For a moment, he feared that Aziraphale would reject such a touch coming from a demon, but Aziraphale leaned into his wing bone, curling up tighter, face buried in his knees. Crawley looked ahead at the river and the reeds, both to give Aziraphale some privacy and to soothe himself with the melodious water current. He was more out of practice than he thought. To do this, he had to open himself to Aziraphale’s pain. He didn’t need to feel all of it, but his instincts were rusty, his shields more permeable than he was comfortable with, so he sucked up more than he had anticipated. He breath trembled, whistling between his teeth as tears stung his eyes and he struggled against the ache swelling in his throat, flashes of his own friends’ deaths assaulting his memory. 

_Get it together_ , he ordered himself. 

He focused on a reed, a single blade of tall grass swaying in the breeze as he struggled to close off the floodgates in his soul and hold himself back from Aziraphale’s grief, just enough so that he could function without being overwhelmed. 

His throat loosened. That was it. Just a little more. This had been simple once. Never easy, but simple. This was what he had been designed to do, or so he had thought. Tears spilled from his eyes, but only a few. He brushed them off with his left hand, breathing in deep. Aziraphale continued to cry, but Crawley was calm, the strong support that he needed. He could do this. Just because he was a demon didn’t mean that he couldn’t do what he wanted. 

Slowly, Aziraphale’s sobs slowed, fading into jerky hiccups until they stopped completely. He drew in a loud inhale, then raised his head, swiping away at his tears. Crawley removed his hand and wing, but kept his wings out just in case.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, his voice hoarse and broken, but calmer. “That was very kind of you. I didn’t know that demons retained their angelic abilities.”

“We’re certainly not going around using them where we can get caught at it. I haven’t done that in a long time. I wasn’t sure if I still had it in me. I wouldn’t have had to if someone on your side hadn’t decided to be an arsehole and tell you that mourning is bad.”

“I’m sure they had good intentions. Their advice simply didn’t translate well into my situation.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Defend them all you want. They still did you wrong. I could feel what you were feeling for a moment there. I know how many centuries you’ve been carrying this around. How many deaths. It’s not right. If you value your own sanity, don’t do it again.”

Aziraphale sniffed before passing a hand over his face to miracle himself clean. He looked wearily out at the river. 

“I didn’t think the day would come when I would be taking advice from a demon.”

“I noticed that you didn’t take my last one. If you had questioned things, as I told you to, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Aziraphale drew himself up straighter, trying to wrap himself up in dignity.

“You told me to question my orders. My whole purpose. I will do no such thing. I’m an angel. I have no intention of severing myself from God’s grace by joining your ranks. If this has all been an attempt to seduce me to your side, then—”

“Calm down. That’s not why I helped you. Why the Heaven would I want to recruit you? You think I enjoyed falling? Almost drowning in burning sulfur? Having to answer to fucking Lucifer, of all people?”

Aziraphale frowned.

“You sound like you know him personally.”

Crawley snorted. 

“I thought I did. Now, he’d love to recruit you. Tell you whatever you want to hear, then, oh sorry. That was all bullshit. I just wanted you to follow me like a good, little minion. Wanker.”

Aziraphale shuddered.

“Should you really be so cavalier about insulting him? He is your boss. What if he’s listening?”

Crawley shook his head dismissively.

“I would know. He might be the big, bad, and ugly now, but I know what his spirit feels like. We came to an arrangement of sorts. I do my job up here and he leaves me alone. It’s a shitty deal, but it works. But never mind him. Let’s go back to you. Are you feeling better?”

Aziraphale considered for a moment, then nodded. 

“Yes. It still hurts, but it’s easier now somehow. The burden isn’t as heavy.”

“Because you released it finally. It was choking you up.”

Aziraphale nodded, wretched.

“You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t notice how much. I won’t try to contain my grief in the future. Again, thank you. And I apologize.”

“For what?” Crawley asked, frowning.

“For thinking that you meant ill towards me.”

Aziraphale raised his eyes to his. Crawley had to struggle not to turn away at the intensity of his sincerity and the agony that remained in there, his eyes red and shiny. Yet it was impossible to look away, even as he trembled inside. Crawley would probably have been moved no matter what. He had been carrying a torch for this angel. He might as well admit it. To himself, never to the angel in question. But after experiencing Aziraphale’s pain for himself only moments before, he found himself week at the knees and yearning to sink himself into Aziraphale, into the only angel to give him the time of day, this sweet, caring, human-loving being who enjoyed human food and wore actual human clothing instead of miracling it over himself. Who grieved with all his heart and soul over mortal lives that every other angel and demon took for granted. 

Had a bond been created between them? Had Crawley done that? He hadn’t meant to. He only wanted to help. He so rarely let himself help anyone these days without any ulterior motives. He hadn’t even stopped to think that helping an angel heal might get him right back into Hell’s torture chamber. He hadn’t been exaggerating about being able to feel Lucifer’s presence or attention. Else, he wouldn’t feel a single peaceful moment up here. That bastard wouldn’t take kindly to this, nor would any of his devoted fan club. 

Nor would God like seeing one of Her loyal angels with the likes of him. Crawley should leave. The deed was done. Aziraphale had learned how to grieve properly. There was no need for Crawley to linger here any longer, never mind that he had been starved of Aziraphale’s company for centuries. His muscles tensed, preparing to stand up, fly away, whatever he had to do to get himself as far away from Aziraphale’s beseeching gaze. He opened his mouth to say that he had urgent business elsewhere.

“Don’t apologize,” he said instead. “I’m a demon. What else were you going to think of me?”

“But you have been nice to me since we met.”

“It could have been a ruse. You didn’t know that it wasn’t a ruse, that I wasn’t trying to draw you in. Look.”

_Say it now. Get out here._

“Let bygones be bygones, alright?” Crawley said. “Fresh start.”

Aziraphale nodded. A shaky smile alighting on his lips, rendering Crawley incapable of going anywhere that was away from him. Ah, fuck. 

“Fresh start,” Aziraphale said.


	3. Chapter 3

Crawley didn’t leave. Not only did he not leave, but he and Aziraphale also spoke for the rest of the day. The night, too. They had almost two thousand years to catch up on, and Heaven, did they do it. They talked about everything that they had done on Earth. Blessings. Temptations. Learning what the dizzy, giddy sensation of being drunk felt like. Trying on human clothes versus simply growing them out of thin air. Eating. Sleeping. The imaginative ways that humans found to (wrongly) explain the world. The human friends they’d had. Aziraphale teared up again as he regaled Crawley with praises for his recently deceased friend. Turns out that he was a carver, a particularly gifted one. His work decorated the Temple of Horus just downriver. Crawley may have passed by the man and never noticed. Crawley wasn’t sure if he should open up about his own friendships. Aziraphale’s grief still stung in his system, but tit for tat and all that. 

He didn’t cry. None of the deaths had been recent enough for that. Or maybe he was just a hypocrite telling himself that the sorrow gnawing at his heart was only due to making himself vulnerable to Aziraphale’s pain. Aziraphale reached out to him, touching his shoulder, looking every bit the comforting angel. His hand was warm, as warm as his body was, glowing with that heat that only living under the grace of God gave you. 

Nourishing. Loving. 

The heat burning inside Crawley’s spirit was dry, scorching. A fire of destruction razing everything in its path. He could burn this pleasant plain to ash with the blink of an eye and no one would be surprised, evil demon that he was. And yet Aziraphale had felt that he needed to be forgiven for assuming that Crawley would act exactly like every other demon did. Crawley still didn’t know what to do with that. 

As the Milky Way twinkled into shape in the darkness of the night, they both looked up, Crawley in doubt and Aziraphale in admiration.

“I confess,” Aziraphale said, a smile of precious wonder on his face. “I may have been a tad envious of the angels who created those marvels.”

Crawley bit the inside of his lip. He shouldn’t say anything. Really, he shouldn’t. Everyone knew who had made the spheres and plumes of dust that stretched beyond this planet.

“I may have,” he said, already kicking himself, “been allowed to assist on a couple of those.”

Aziraphale turned to him in amazement, eyes bright with delight. Crawley’s lips twitched. Heaven, this angel was too beautiful for his own good. 

“Really?” Aziraphale said, his voice high pitched with glee. “Which ones? Can we see them from here?”

“Not most of them. But that one,” Crawley pointed at the North Star, “is partly one of mine. In a minor capacity.”

Actually, all of it had been him, but he couldn’t admit to that. An Archangel with another name was credited with making it. Aziraphale followed the line of Crawley’s hand as he pointed up at the white speck above, his grin widening.

“How wonderful,” he said. “You must have been close to the Archangels, then.”

Crawley shrugged.

“A bit. We mostly just interacted for work.”

“Is this how you—”

Aziraphale cut himself off, eyes widening with chagrin this time.

“I shouldn’t ask that,” he continued, subdued. “It’s none of my business.”

“Ask what?”

Aziraphale grimaced and bit his lip as he looked away.

“Just tell me,” Crawley said. “I won’t get angry. But if I don’t feel like answering, I’m not doing it.”

“Well.” Was Aziraphale really wringing his hands again? He had quite a habit of doing that. “You might not want to. What I almost asked was, and I really feel that I shouldn’t have, was if that’s how you met Satan. Lucifer, as he was back then.”

Ah. That. Yup, that was an awkward question, wasn’t it? Good thing that he’d given himself an out. Aziraphale was also giving him an out. He really should jump on it. 

But was Aziraphale really doing that while insisting on staring at Crawley with that pleading look on his face? Crawley didn’t care who was the angel and the demon here. Aziraphale was as much of a tempter as Crawley was. 

“Obviously,” Crawley said. “We weren’t chummy or anything, not until he started recruiting people.”

“How about Raphael?” Aziraphale’s voice was practically a murmur, and yet he was still asking. “Did Satan trick him, too? Many of us were shocked by his Fall. Not that I ever met him, so perhaps it wasn’t a shock to those who knew him.”

Panic shrieked in Crawley’s head, like the sharp cries of birds who had spotted a hawk descending upon them. Now was the time to dissemble. Absolutely, under no circumstances should he tell the truth. Aziraphale seemed contented enough with Crawley being a demon, sure, but the great Archangel Raphael, who everyone had all these lofty and fanciful expectations about? How would Aziraphale react to that? Just look at him now. Appalled. That was what anyone would call the expression on Azirphale’s face. And sad. That, too. 

Bless, Aziraphale hadn’t looked up to him or something, had he? Crawley hadn’t known him. Why should anyone have looked up to him without knowing him? Yet other angels had, all starry-eyed and “by your leave, sir”, and “what is it like to be so close to the Grace of God?” 

Would they be just as curious to know what it was like to have that Grace ripped from you like a heart from a human chest because God was a dictatorial parent who despised any of Her creations having the temerity to question any of her decisions? Unlikely. The falling of an angel was probably the stuff of nightmares to them. 

“I’d rather not talk about them,” Crawley said, turning away from the stars to walk along the river. 

Aziraphale was probably getting all sorts of wrong ideas by Crawley’s sudden dismissal, but any of them were better than the truth right now.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice pregnant with remorse. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Silence descended between them, more like a chill breeze than the comfortable balm that it had been before. Crawley blessed himself. He always fucked up everything. Why did he always have to fuck up everything? 

“I like going for strolls near the Temple of Horus,” Aziraphale said after a while.

Crawley’s steps faltered at the tone of his voice. Aziraphale sounded hopeful, but also desperately nervous, yet not like before. Not afraid of Crawley, but afraid of himself and what he was asking for. Because he was asking for something. Aziraphale squinted at him, not able to see as well in the darkness as Crawley. A smile danced an apprehensive jig on his lips. 

“Are you asking me to meet you there?” Crawley asked, sounding as befuddled as he felt. 

Aziraphale had calmed down, sure, but Crawley thought that meant that the next time that they saw each other, Aziraphale might be happy to see him, not that he wanted to spend more time together now. Aziraphale nodded. Crawley’s breath froze in his throat. 

“Just,” Aziraphale said, “if you wish to. I know I haven’t been welcoming to seeing you again in the past, but… After what you did for me… Since we are doing a fresh start, I thought we might arrange our next meeting instead of leaving it to chance.”

“Yeah,” Crawley blurted out. “Alright. That works.”

He winced at himself. Real smooth, Crawley. Not being transparent at all. Aziraphale smiled. It shone more brightly than the stars in the sky. 

_Oh, bless me._

Sod being transparent. It was worth it all for that smile. 

```````````````

Two days later, they met beside the statute of Horus that adorned the main entrance of the temple. For the entire walk there, Crawley braced himself for Aziraphale not to show up. It had been over twenty-four hours, plenty of time for Aziraphale to think himself mad for even considering striking up a friendship with a demon. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck as he rounded the corner of the temple toward the entrance. 

He stopped so abruptly that someone bumped into him from behind. Aziraphale was there, standing right by the statue like he’d promised. He hadn’t ditched him. And now that he noticed Crawley, he was smiling, too. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, approaching him, his disposition as sunny as the star beaming overhead. There were still some nerves there. A little uncertain bounciness to his feet and unsure hands, but he was happy to see Crawley. A grin burst on Crawley’s lips. 

“Hello,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

“Of course I am.” Did Aziraphale have any clue how adorable his indignant frowns were? “I’m an angel. We keep our promises, don’t you remember?”

“I was an angel and I didn’t, if you’ll remember.”

Aziraphale’s frown deepened. Shit, Crawley shouldn’t have mentioned that. 

“According to that argument,” Aziraphale said, “I should have been the one unsure whether you would turn up.”

Was there a hint of teasing in Aziraphale’s voice? There was, wasn’t there?

“Were you?”

“Actually, no. You’re always happy to see me, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to ditch me. Which makes you just as reliable as me in this case.”

Crawley raised a brow. 

“Only in this case?”

“Well, you are a demon. You aren’t known for being trustworthy, even among your own kind.”

Good point.

“Fair enough. But I would have thought that helping you out would have cut me some slack.”

“It has. I am very grateful.”

Huh. Well, that was something. Having an angel thank him would take some getting used to.

“So you’re feeling better, then?”

Aziraphale lowered his eyes, which clouded with sorrow.

“As well as can be expected. It’s still difficult, but I don’t feel the intense pressure that I used to before.”

“Glad to hear that. So...” Crawley looked around. “Did you have an itinerary in mind or…”

“No. I thought we could just walk around. Unless there’s something specific that you wish to do.”

“No, nothing. We’ll just walk and talk, then?”

“Yes.”

Well, somebody had to start walking for that to happen. Was Aziraphale waiting for him to start walking? He was just standing there staring at him. 

Okay, Crawley would start. 

Never mind, Aziraphale was walking already. Crawley fell in step beside him. Yep. Not awkward. No more awkward than the other night. 

It actually was awkward, but it got less so as they progressed through the temple campus, then the market, which was too loud to hold a conversation, anyway. It got better once they got out of there. Then they stopped to eat, of all things. Well, Aziraphale ate. If Crawley ate something, his eyes would start to close and he’d have to cut this short, and there was no way that was happening. Aziraphale was good company, much better than anyone else Crawley had met. When they laughed together, something inside Crawley stirred, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in ages. A couple of humans had come close to inspiring this swell of affection in him, but not like this. Never like this. 

They met again at the end of the week, then the beginning of the next, each time growing more relaxed in each other’s company. Crawley had lost count about how many times they had gotten together during those three months before Aziraphale came to him with the news that he had been reassigned to Greece. Crawley cursed Aziraphale’s superiors to the deepest pit of Hell for taking him away. He would follow, but requesting to be relocated to Athens only led to being ordered to stay exactly where he was, and why was he so keen to leave, anyway? 

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said when they said good-bye the next morning before he was due to join a caravan traveling north. “We’ll see each other again. We always do. I’m sure we’ll have another happy chance meeting before too long.”

“There’s no guarantee of that,” Crawley protested. 

He yearned to grab Aziraphale in a hug and refuse to let go, but they had never done that. They hadn’t even shown each other their wings again in all this time. Aziraphale’s smile dimmed, then brightened again. 

“We’re just going to have to hope for the best,” he said, decisively, as if simply wishing for things made them come true. “Come, please don’t look so sad. There’s no helping it. We are on opposite sides. There’s nothing we can do without the danger of being discovered, and I would not risk you so.”

“Neither would I. But it still makes me furious.” 

Crawley bit down on the urge to curse. Aziraphale didn’t like that sort of language. He didn’t judge anyone for it, but Crawley tried to make him as comfortable as possible by keeping it to a minimum. 

“Me, too,” Aziraphale said.

He held out his hands, palms up, and looked down at Crawley’s own, which were fisted at his sides. He waggled his fingers. 

Oh. He wanted to… Huh. That was new. More intimate than a hug. Slowly, Crawley stretched out his hands and placed them in Aziraphale’s own. Aziraphale closed his fingers around them, holding him firmly. Crawley’s breath caught in his throat, the flare of anger and knot of agony in his chest diminishing as soothing vibes oozed through his body in the peace of an angelic touch.

“I know what you’re doing,” Crawley said.

“I’m merely trying to ease the discomfort of the situation.”

“I’m not complaining. It feels nice.”

As did holding Aziraphale’s hands. He wouldn’t be able to feel the warmth of his palms for years to come. His breath jerked even with Aziraphale’s soothing energy consoled him. Aziraphale glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” he said. For a moment, he sounded as wretched as Crawley before he smiled again and gave Crawley’s hands a firm squeeze, letting go. “Good fortune in the days ahead. Although not too good in your hellish endeavors, of course.”

Crawley only had to partly force his smile. 

“Same to you, replacing the hellish with the heavenly.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened and he turned away, walking down the temple complex and out into the street. Crawley watched him go until he couldn’t anymore. 

````````````````

Centuries passed before he saw Aziraphale again, years of following his instructions to the letter, willing away his time with whatever little mischiefs he could concoct, interesting humans to keep him company (though never as good company as Aziraphale), and napping. Lots and lots of napping. He spent most of Ramses II’s conquest binge napping, yet because he had met the guy when he was a teenager, someone down Below thought that it was Crawley who put the idea in his head, so he woke up to a commendation for Foul Deeds Against Humanity. As a reward, he was allowed to travel wherever he liked, except Greece. He should have never asked to be transferred to Greece. He should have kept his mouth shut. Bided his time. Not made Lord Beelzebub suspicious about why he wanted to go to Greece. He chose Anatolia. Plenty of Greeks there. No one who knew Aziraphale, though. It was possible that Aziraphale had been transferred again already, so there might not be a point hoping that he might be close by. He might have even thought better than to associate with a demon. Crawley tried to shove the fear away, but it always came crawling back, cackling in the small hours of loneliness and anxiety. 

And, indeed, he didn’t run into him again until he relocated to Persia a century later. Browsing through the market to kill some time (while making sure that all the sellers ignored his presence and didn’t crawl all over him like they did with everyone else), he felt Aziraphale’s presence. 

“Aziraphale?”

He murmured his name without even thinking about it, turning this way and that, seeking him out. 

“Crawley!” 

Gasping, Crawley turned to his left and the angel politely trying to make his way toward him in the milling crowd. Rolling his eyes, Crawley shoved his way through, ignoring the insults that rained on his ears, as well as Aziraphale’s disapproving gaze.

“Crawley,” he said like a mother berating her child. “You really didn’t have to.”

“They’re fine. Besides, It’s my job, remember?”

“I suppose so.” 

Satisfied that Crawley was really only doing his demonic duty, Aziraphale smiled and Crawley went weak at the knees. He was even more beautiful than he remembered.

“It’s so good to see you,” Aziraphale said. 

Crawley was aware that he was grinning like a happy puppy but he didn’t care.

“You, too. You said it wouldn’t be long before we saw each other again. It’s been centuries.”

“Well, I hoped it wouldn’t be long. I’m not in charge of the workings of the universe, you know. But we have time to catch up now, surely. Are you living here?”

“For the past couple of decades. It’s fine, I guess, but it gets a little dull sometimes. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that. I encouraged King Darius to be a little more lenient with his subjects. Should I ask what you’ve been doing?”

Telling Darius’s son to be less lenient. Crawley resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck.

“Eh, probably not.”

Aziraphale’s expression turned wry, but his disapproval didn’t return.

“You’re probably right. Shall we take a stroll? It is a bit congested in here.”

The shoppers had been compelled to go in a circle around them, but it was still smothering, so Crawley took him up on his offer. Aziraphale was staying in town for a week, nowhere near enough time, but it would have to do. Crawley knew better than to ask for a transfer to a specific location again. Hell was more well disposed toward him these days, but he never wanted to give them even more of an incentive to be sadistic. To make up for lost time, they saw each other every day that week, even talking deep into the night, picking up right where they left off. Aziraphale wasn’t any colder toward him now just because they hadn’t seen each other in a while, thank S—Well, somebody. And he was still the cheerful, excitable being that he had been centuries past, still as charming and caring for humanity. Crawley might be more comfortable with tarnishing humanity now, but it still warmed him up to see Aziraphale hold onto his admiration about humans’ innovations and kindnesses, even though they were often mixed in with a crapload of moral disgustingness, most of which was their own doing. 

They parted with a hug this time, once again Aziraphale’s idea. Crawley sank his head onto him for the briefest second before pulling away. He mustn’t get too greedy. If he pushed too hard, Aziraphale might reconsider, even now. Crawley had made a couple of comments, the mildest of suggestions, easily disguised as idle thinking out loud, that it might be nice to try something new, like touch. And not only when they were saying goodbye. Aziraphale either didn’t understand him or ignored him in the hopes that Crawley would forget about it. Crawley didn’t dare push more in case it was the latter. 

Just like last time, he fell into a funk when Aziraphale left. A nap was in order. Fifty years after that nap, they sent him off to Macedonia to inspire the new, young king of a ragtag tribe to conquer those sneering Greeks to the south. Sure, now Hell sent him to Greece. Bastards. After the king died, he stayed on to continue tempting his son, Alexander, who took him on a tour of most of the places that Crawley had already lived in as he conquered them all. Crawley got another commendation, this one earned, but he didn’t care about that. The important thing was that now he was given free rein to go wherever he wanted. At least for a bit. 

Crawley roamed around for the next couple of centuries. 

No Aziraphale. 

Then the rumors began. God was planning something big. Whatever it was, it would happen in Israel. Crawley needed to go and check it out. The last time that God had big plans for humanity, She had drowned a huge portion of them, so Crawley dragged himself to Israel with as much enthusiasm as a mouse creeping towards a cat. 

That’s when he ran into Gabriel. The great Archangel Gabriel. The second most self-centered person Crawley had ever had the displeasure of knowing, the first being Lucifer, the bastard. 

He had no warning. No whiff of angelic presence. Crawley had just been minding his own business, wondering how he was supposed to discover God’s mysterious plans when lo and behold, there was Gabriel popping out of the roof of a house in the working-class district, looking as pleased as punch. Crawley stuttered to a halt, every instinct in his being screaming at the sight of Gabriel in full, “do not be afraid, mere mortals” regalia, all splendid white robes and a not at all subtle glow in his features. He had made himself invisible to humans, now what whatever he had been doing was done, but Crawley could see him. Any angel and demon within ten miles could see him. His wings were out. He was about to fly away. Crawley rushed back to hide behind the next house, but it was too late.

“Raphael?”

Fuck! Crawley’s wings jerked, almost stretching out in flight, but he would not run away from Gabriel. No fucking way. Gritting his teeth, he turned back around the corner, almost bumping into Gabriel. The arsehole was standing just at the other side, now looking human-like, a sickening look of glee on his face as he swept his gaze up and down Crawley as if he were a showpiece at a fair.

“It is you,” Gabriel said, his voice rising with an amused laugh. “Wow. You look… Well, not great. Actually, you’re looking a little tawdry. Are those eyes permanent? Not exactly the nicest thing to look at.”

Crawley growled.

“Gracious as always Gabriel,” he said. “I see they’re still not teaching manners up in Heaven.”

Gabriel huffed.

“Please. As if manners are a thing at all in Hell. I hear that the walls are covered in waste and that the air is so thick with smoke and grime that you can barely see. You must be like wild animals down there eating each other alive.”

“You’ve never been there. What would you know? And I’m not down there. I’m here. Same as you.”

Gabriel raised a mocking brow. 

“Oh, I’m not staying here.” His voice dripped with disgust as he surveyed the street and the people around them as if they repulsed him. “I was merely called down to announce the birth of the son of God. A task which you would never have been worthy enough to do. Now that I’m done, I’ll be very glad not to see this backwater for another century.”

Crawley’s mind stumbled past his shock at God’s plan. No time for that now. 

“It’s not a backwater,” he growled. “It’s a pleasant, little town.”

Gabriel flashed the most patronizing smile that Crawley had ever seen. Heaven, did he want to punch Gabriel in his mocking mouth.

“I’m sure it must look like Heaven to you after being banished to Hell. You have no one to blame but yourself for that. Questioning orders. Doing whatever you pleased as if there weren’t consequences to your actions. Feeling pity for the humans to come. How is that working out for you? Haven’t you been stirring up thoughts of violence and murder in the minds of their leaders? I hear you got a commendation for inspiring Ramses the Second to rape and pillage.”

“I had nothing to do with that. I just met him once.”

“Oh, so you’re taking credit for things you didn’t do. Hardly angelic of you, Raphael. But perfectly in keeping with a treacherous demon. Although, Alexander the Great’s murderous rampage was your doing, wasn’t it? As was his father’s. And there was another one in Persia, wasn’t there? Xerxes, I believe? Are you going to deny those, too?”

Impotent fury and shame curdled Crawley’s stomach as he bit his tongue, unable to respond. But he kept his eyes firmly on Gabriel’s. He wouldn’t shy away, no matter how keenly his words cut.

“So much for all your lofty ideals,” Gabriel said, relishing every second of power he had over Crawley. “You had a chance to be on the side of good, yet you chose this.”

The repulsion with which Gabriel sneered down Crawley’s body and at his serpent eyes made Crawley tremble with rage. 

“Fuck you,” he spat out, throat clenching, his voice little more than a growl.

Gabriel laughed. He laughed! 

Crawley almost hit him then. He pulled back his arm for a punch, but Gabriel was too quick. He grabbed Crawley, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him against a building. Pain flared in Crawley’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth, barely holding back a scream. Gabriel was going to break his arm. Crawley buckled under him, the brick wall scratching his face, but Gabriel’s weight wouldn’t let him move.

“You really should know better than to try and fight me,” Gabriel said, nonchalant. Crawley wasn’t a threat to him at all. “You’d think that you would have learned after I threw you out of Heaven, but you were always such an impulsive fool. But I have better things to do than quarrel with a useless demon. Good-bye, _Crawley_.”

Crawley growled, but before he could retort, Gabriel flew off, miracling himself back to Heaven where Crawley couldn’t follow. Yelling, Crawley punched a hole in the wall. Startled gasps and whispers sounded around him. 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, _shit_. 

Yanking his hand free, he fixed the wall and rushed away, panting, barely keeping from running or miracling himself away until the instant that he rounded a corner into a deserted side street and transformed into a snake to slither away as far from everyone as he could possibly get. 

````````````````

Aziraphale found him up in a tree by an oasis along the trade route north of the town. Some travelers had stopped by to replenish earlier, disturbing his fuming slumber. He hissed at them and bared his teeth, swelling to his biggest size to drive them off. Guilt seeped in the cracks of his rage later. He tried to shake it off. He was a demon. A vile, loathsome thing. Making humans miserable was his job. His true calling. The reason for his existence. He may have thought otherwise before with his dreams of brilliant nebulas and starlight, but he had been wrong. That angel who had once dwelled in Heaven, who haunted his nightmares when he closed his eyes, was no more. He was dead. Crawley had destroyed him. There was no turning back. No redemption for him. No forgiveness. A demon could never be forgiven. 

His skin prickled as he felt Azirphale’s angelic presence. He sucked in a gasp. Not now. Why did Aziraphale have to come now? How could Crawley possibly speak to him in this wretched state? He should never have spoken to him. Not ever. A demon and an angel couldn’t be friends. What had he been thinking? If anyone in Heaven found out, they would be furious. Gabriel would probably make an example of Azirphale personally, maybe even throw him out himself. 

“Crawley?” Aziraphale called. 

Crawley curled tighter around the branches, tucking his head under his body.

“I know you’re here,” Aziraphale said, sticks crunching under his feet as he stepped towards the tree. “I heard that there was a snake in town. A big, red and black one. Following some sort of altercation with a red-haired man. Then a caravan of travelers was frightened by another large snake here, one of immense proportions. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you find it fun to scare people like that, but it tends to get one noticed. I noticed, for example.”

Aziraphale spoke calmly, not judging Crawley’s actions, but he must in his heart. Of course he must. He was an angel. A loyal, law-abiding angel. He must be full of judgments against Crawley, probably even more now after not having seen him for so long. 

“Crawley?”

Aziraphale was right beneath him now. Crawley shivered.

“Go away!” he called out.

“Surely, you can’t mean that, my dear.”

Aziraphale had begun calling him “dear” the last time they met. Crawley’s spirit had almost burst out of his mortal body in shock and happiness. A shriek of despair threatened to grind out of Crawley’s throat. All these years of searching and now, _now_ , was when Aziraphale finally found him? Why? Why did it have to be now?

“Crawley, please come down.”

Crawley hugged himself more firmly.

“No.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“Alright. I’ll come up, then.”

Shit. Crawley should miracle himself away, but he had no energy, no will to move or speak or think. With a flutter of feathers, Aziraphale flew through the branches and sat down on the sturdiest one nearest Crawley. Crawley sneaked a peek over his body. Aziraphale looked well. Well-fed, attired in white as always, and more cheerfully radiant than Crawley could imagine possible, although it was dimmed a bit now because of Crawley. Another one of his transgressions. Failings upon failings. That’s what he was made of. 

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, brow creased with concern.

He reached out, but stopped short of touching Crawley, his hand resting a few inches away on the branch. Crawley dropped his head, tired. So tired. If he’d had eyelids, he would have closed them.

“I had a fight with Gabriel,” he said.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise and apprehension.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, lips clenching. “The archangel Gabriel? Are you hurt?"

“Do I look hurt to you?” Crawley snapped moodily.

He regretted it instantly. Aziraphale’s face pinched, hurt by Crawley’s tone. With a great sigh of despair, Crawley uncoiled himself a little and laid his head down on Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said. “I’m fine. He pushed me against a wall and nearly broke my arm, but I’m healed now.”

“You’re not fine, clearly. Although I’m glad that you escaped with no greater injuries.” 

Aziraphale pet Crawley with his other hand, massaging gently at the top of Crawley’s head. Crawley’s body rippled with pleasure at the soothing vibes Aziraphale rubbed into him. 

“He just pissed me off,” Crawley said. “And I didn’t escape. He left. Didn’t want to waste another second of his time with me. And why the Heaven should he? He’s an angel. No angel thinks anything good of a demon. 

Why was Aziraphale looking at him with such pity? 

_Stop it!_

“I think good of you,” Aziraphale said, kind, always so blessedly kind. Crawley didn’t deserve him. 

“You shouldn’t,” Crawley growled at him. “I’m a demon. I tempted Eve to steal an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. I wrecked their perfect, little paradise. And I’ve done many nefarious things since then. Things that would make you pale with horror.”

Aziraphale’s frown deepened. He didn’t look remotely convinced. His movements stopped, but he didn’t remove his hand.

“Have you killed anyone?” Aziraphale asked.

Crawley’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. 

“No, but there’s a lot more to evil than just killing people.”

“Assaulted anyone?”

“Loads. That’s what the glorious revolution was all about. You were there. You saw it.”

“Well, we all assaulted someone that day. How about humans? Have you attacked any humans?”

Shit.

“Well, no.” Crawley grimaced, or tried to. It didn’t work very well on a serpent face. “But I’ve incited them to attack each other.”

“But that is your job, though. Inciting discord.”

Why did it all sound so blameless and rational when Aziraphale said it?

“I guess. Look, the point is, I’m an agent of chaos. Of all that is bad and wicked. All the things that you’re opposed to. You shouldn’t be talking to me. Have anything to do with me.”

“That’s ridiculous. We are friends. We already had this misunderstanding at the beginning of our relationship, all my fault, and I will not return to it now. Why are you saying these things?”

Crawley sagged so much that he almost fell off the tree. He ducked out from under Aziraphale’s hand and tucked back into himself. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He didn’t actually want Aziraphale to leave. Of course not. Gabriel had just gotten under his skin. Heaven, how did he always do that? Every time with his smarmy, holier than thou crap. He had always made Crawley feel so little. Aziraphale was watching him, silent, patient, his right wing rising to cover Crawley as if protecting him from harm. 

Crawley felt wretched. Aziraphale didn’t deserve his petulant, self-worth problems. Bracing himself, Crawley slithered back to Aziraphale and rested his head atop his hand once again. Aziraphale lowered his wing, touching him with his soft feathers. Crawley breathed softly, more exhausted than he’d felt in ages. 

“I never wanted to be a demon,” he said. “I wanted to do good. I was excited about humanity, looking forward to them. But how things were done, the arbitrary decisions, bureaucracy in Heaven, it didn’t sit well with me. I probably wouldn’t have kept my mouth shut even if Lucifer hadn’t asked me to join up, so I was doomed anyway. But I didn’t want to fall. But I did, and here I am, and I’m having fun. I shouldn’t be having as much fun as I am. I have tempted people to do ghastly things. Alexander the Great? His dad? Xerxes I? They were ripe for the picking, but I gave them a big push. I went all over the place with Alexander. I saw what he was doing.”

“There was nothing you could have done to stop it. Rebelling against Hell isn’t a light matter. They would destroy you.”

“I know, but I still should feel worse about it than I do, shouldn’t I? Fine, so I’m not setting people on fire and cackling about it like some of the lords of Hell do, but I still do bad things. I urge people to follow their darkest desires. It’s not just a job, it’s also me. This isn’t like a human job that you can just quit. It’s who we are. Our essence. You’re an angel, honored by the grace of God. I’m a demon, who will never feel it again, not that I want to, given how much I disagree with Her. I have been cast out. The why doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is what I’ve become. An evil being that revels in scaring travelers and paling around with dictators is what I am now. Beyond redemption or forgiveness.”

“That’s not true.” Aziraphale cupped Crawley’s head, gazing at him with such intense sorrow that Crawley looked away, ashamed. “You may be a demon and fallen, but this is not all that you are. Would a foul fiend with no heart have spoken to me as kindly as you did on the wall of Eden? Or helped me grieve when I most needed it? And not only with words. You healed me with your touch. You may no longer be an angel, but some divine power still remains inside you, as well as an urge to help. To help me, an angel, your enemy. Would any other demon do that?”

Crawley’s whole body undulated with despair and confusion.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he mumbled.

“I wouldn’t, either. Look, I won’t allow you do dig yourself into a pit like this and sever our friendship. It’s mean. I won’t stand for it. I am an angel, so if I say that you are not all evil, then it must be true.”

Crawley would have smiled if he could.

“Gabriel is an Archangel and he says otherwise. Not that I ever gave a fuck what that pompous arse had to say.”

Aziraphale blanched at the insult to his superior, his wings shivering as he looked about as if Gabriel might show up any second. 

“Well,” he said nervously. “I suppose. No one is… Not even the great Archangel Gabriel can be…”

Perking up, Crawley raised his head, eager for Aziraphale to finish that sentence. 

“Can be what?”

Aziraphale grimaced and waved his left hand vaguely in the air.

“You know.”

“I don’t know. Can be what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that innocent act. I don’t think I should… No, I most definitely shouldn’t…”

“No one is listening, angel. If they were, we’d be feathery soup by now.”

Aziraphale shut his eyes and sighed, hanging his head.

“Fine,” he whispered. “Gabriel can’t be perfect.”

“There you go!” 

Crawley rose up level with Aziraphale, who narrowed his eyes at him in irritation. Crawley felt better already. 

“So,” Crawley said. “What you’re saying is that the great Archangel Gabriel is wrong?”

Groaning, Aziraphale dropped his face into his hands. 

“Please stop. I’m not going to say that.”

“I am. I hate that bastard. He’s the one who threw me out of Heaven. Did I ever tell you that?”

Aziraphale looked up in shock.

“What? No. You haven’t. So the confrontation today, it was personal?”

“Extremely. He even called me by my original name just to fuck with me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. Crap, Crawley shouldn’t have let that one slip. Not that Aziraphale would ask. He had never mentioned Crawley’s life in Heaven again. But Crawley might as well reveal it now. What was he hoarding it for, anyway? He wasn’t an impressive Archangel now. Not even a town councilor by Hell’s standards. Breath shaking, he shuddered into bipedal form to sit next to Aziraphale. He clutched the branch under him as he shifted, looking out at the leaves around them instead of Aziraphale. 

“Remember when I told you about helping to make the stars?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

Crawley shifted on the branch, his legs swinging. He bit his lip.

“You asked me about Raphael. I didn’t want to talk about him. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you then. It’s not like you would have been impressed.” A hollow laugh escaped Crawley’s throat. “Fallen angel and all that. Why should my former rank matter to you?”

“What are you saying?”

Crawley dared to peer at Aziraphale’s wrinkled brow and suspicious eyes, already working out what Crawley meant. 

“Well, my dear friend Aziraphale, that was me. I was Raphael. Was, not am. I can never be that angel again.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he gasped. Stopped breathing, too, for his chest ceased moving. Crawley smiled weakly, icy apprehension crawling down his back.

“Tada,” he said in a singsong voice, even though he didn’t feel it. 

“You… You made all those…” Aziraphale looked up through the branches. “All those beautiful stars and nebulas. That was all you?”

That was what Aziraphale was focusing on? Not the Archangel part or being equals with Gabriel and Lucifer? Or being such a holy angel that no one could have envisioned him rebelling?

“Yup,” he said, nodding, his mouth dry. “That was me.”

His breath stopped at the admiring wonder in Aziraphale’s eyes as he turned back to him.

“I…” Aziraphale licked his lips. “I was already impressed when you said that you had assisted, but… You could have told me. Oh, my good lord, you really are him.”

Crawley sighed, sagging as he looked down at the ground.

“Your lord doesn’t like me, so I don’t know why you’re bringing Her up.”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Never mind that for now.”

Crawley turned to him.

“Never mind? That’s the crux of the whole situation. God kicking me out. Me not being able to be what I thought I was.”

“You still made those stars. They’re right there.” Aziraphale pointed up, a broad smile shining on his face, brighter than any of them. “They’re not gone. God didn’t wipe them away.”

“She didn’t wipe away Lucifer’s, either.”

“You’re missing my point. God doesn’t consider all your actions bad. There’s the proof right in the sky. Fallen you may be, but you’re still the person who made that. Who can create such wondrous beauty that takes people’s breaths away. Do you know how often I have gazed out at the sky and been filled with wonder and joy at the beauty that I see? How often humans do? Alright, so you tempt them and make their lives a bit more difficult, but they can look up at the sky at night and be comforted by the beauty that you brought them. Surely, even though your spirit has been altered, you can still be proud of that.”

Crawley gaped at Aziraphale, breathless. Brilliant admiration shone in his eyes. Admiration over something Crawley had made. Crawley had already felt it when he had first told Aziraphale, but now Azirphale knew that it was all him, making it even more intense, more significant. Those stars had been his pride, his joy, but in the past, not now. Yet they were there now, weren’t they? She may have thrown him out, but She hadn’t taken them away. Aziraphale laid his hand on his. Crawley trembled, looking down at their hands. Aziraphale jerked away, looking uncertain, but Crawley turned his hand around and curled his fingers around his, preventing him from moving further.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I like it.”

Aziraphale’s warmth flowed through him, his inner glow filling Crawley’s chest with peace and joy. Was Aziraphale even aware that he was projecting it, or was it automatic? Every time that they had touched, Crawley had felt the same hot glow, an angelic trait, sure, but it burned even more strongly in Aziraphale, a testament to his goodness, his generosity, his infinite capacity for love, even towards the demon who had just tempted the humans he cared for away from their paradise. No angel that Crawley had met in Heaven was as lovely as Aziraphale, not in form or spirit. 

“You’re smiling,” Aziraphale said, looking relieved. “I’m glad. You feel better, then?”

When had Crawley begun smiling? He hadn’t noticed. Not that he wasn’t always smiling when he was around Aziraphale, even if it was deep inside. 

“A bit, I guess. You’re not weirded out, then, by who I was?”

“No. Still a bit shocked, but no. I’m just upset at myself for not figuring it out earlier. I never heard of any lower-ranking angels helping make the stars. And your powers of healing and comfort are, well, better than mine.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I wouldn’t say that. Not at all. You did a good job getting this old demon to stop moping. That is no small task. I was gearing up for another decade-old nap. Lucky that you came along. And that I didn’t drive you off. Thanks for that, too.”

“Of course. You won’t be rid of me so easily. I have missed you terribly, my dear. I have…” Aziraphale hesitated before pushing forward. “I have yearned for you.” 

He squeezed Crawley’s hand, covering it with his other one, cocooning Crawley in pleasant warmth. Summoning unhoped-for courage, Crawley touched Aziraphale’s shoulder with his free hand and leaned forward. Aziraphale’s cheek was soft under his lips.

“Me, too.”


End file.
